Sanctuary
by wiggles247
Summary: Jac needs time and space to think so heads to the one place she hopes Jonny won't think to look for her...
1. Chapter 1

**This was originally meant to be a one-shot with a slightly different focus, but as I was writing it somehow went in a different direction. So it will now be a 2-shot piece with the second part containing the original idea. Although I'm not sure when part 2 will be ready, so hopefully it works OK as a standalone piece for the moment. Enjoy, and please review - I really do like to know what everyone thinks...**

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_11 weeks_

Jac closed her eyes and breathed in the silence, feeling the sense of being scrutinised slowly falling away from her. She shifted in the chair making herself more comfortable and took another deep breath. She had needed some time to think and so had come to the one place she thought Jonny wouldn't think to look for her. Although, she remembered, he had found her here once before, but then she reasoned, he had known she was missing. Today, she expected, he would simply presume she had just left without saying goodbye, and would no doubt be thinking that it was typical of her, just the sort of thing she would do. She opened her eyes at this thought, wondering for a moment why it mattered so much before she remembered (if that was the right word) why, and consciously tried to stop thinking about it – knowing the path such thoughts led her down. Instead she looked around the room, determined to find something else to focus on. She noticed the way the light was filtered by the 'stained glass', and was then captivated for a moment by the dust motes which appeared to be dancing through the diffused rainbow light which shone through the covered windows. She was reminded of the time one of her primary school teachers, Mrs Davidson, had shone a beam of light at a crystal and broken it up into its constituent colours, how miraculous that had seemed – that the colours of the rainbow could be locked away in something so ordinary, and then revealed in all their wonder as if by magic. Then another memory was triggered – a kaleidoscope she had had as a child, the multi-coloured beads she had spent so long gazing at, changing the patterns they formed with a simple movement of her hand. If only everything was so easy to change, to make how you wanted it to be….

But it wasn't, and wishing that it was wouldn't make it so.

She sat forward in the chair and put her head in her hands for a few seconds before running them through her hair and once again sitting up. Her hands now resting in her lap she wondered idly if she'd always sat like this, gently cradling her abdomen, or whether it was a new thing that she had begun doing since the baby. She honestly couldn't remember, things she had done before the baby seemed much more distant from her than the few weeks they actually were temporally. It was almost as if they belonged to a different life, as if they had happened to a different person – which, she supposed, in a way was true. She was a mother now – the baby might not be here yet, but she knew somewhere deep within herself that that was the truth. She might be a 'mum-to-be' in the eyes of the few people who knew, but to herself she was a mother, not that she really knew what that feeling meant, but she knew that she felt it. And then she thought how much easier life would be if this wasn't the case, not better – definitely not better, but still…easier. She wouldn't be forever linked with Jonny for a start – tied to him for a lifetime by a visible symbol of what they'd once shared (however fleetingly), of the love they'd once felt for one another. There'd always be a reminder now of what she'd let slip away, a wonderful reminder no doubt, but still….. And there wouldn't be the almost constant worry, worries. If Sacha was right and she did have 'it'? What everybody (or most people) would say, behind her back obviously, when they found out? How she would cope when Jonny moved on, as she was sure he would, and probably soon, to someone new but was still the father of their baby as he always would be? When, if ever, she would feel 'normal' again? How she would get everything that needed doing done in the time she had left before the baby came? How she would feel when that moment came?

So yes, the thought repeated – it would be so much easier if 'this' wasn't, but then she heard another voice saying 'but the best things usually are hard, and normally so _very_ worth it', and she knew that that too was true.

And, also knew, as she had from a point deep down in the very centre of her being from a few moments after Mr T had dropped her bombshell that she didn't want the baby not to be here. Even before his words had punctured her conscious mind and registered there, before the shock had shown on her face and Mo's 'bum-hunch' was confirmed, she knew. Knowledge that coalesced when she thought it was gone - the desperation she had felt adding weight to the truth she had known since she became aware of its existence. She couldn't rationalise or even vocalise what she was_ thinking_, didn't really know if the truth were told. But she _felt_ it immediately, a visceral pull, a hitherto unimaginable sense that this was somehow right. In so many ways, almost unbearably wrong – but in the only way that really mattered, unbelievably and wonderfully right! And she'd had wobbles, she was prepared to admit that – times when she'd _thought_ about if she was doing the right thing, _questioned_ whether she could actually do it, but she'd never _felt_ any differently. And she realised that the feeling was, in this case, the most important thing perhaps, in fact, the only thing that mattered.

And she knew how that realisation ran counter to almost everything else in her life, seemed contradictory, was contradictory to how she normally thought about things. She had never been one for feelings, preferring to rely on more definite, predictable, constant concepts – like experience and knowledge and logic. She was prepared to admit that intuition might be a good thing – that those hunches you sometimes got might occasionally point you in the right direction. But she would argue that those hunches were based on reality, not feelings - on things you had noticed but weren't consciously aware of, or on things you knew but hadn't consciously remembered. And it wasn't that she didn't experience feelings, despite what many people who knew her might think, because she did. In fact sometimes she believed she experienced them more acutely, felt them more deeply than most of those people who judged her to be cold and unfeeling. She felt them, of course she did, she just tried so hard not to let them show. Except of course for anger – that emotion she was more than comfortable to display. Although even that, except for a few notable exceptions, was still controlled and contained, not that anybody unfortunate enough to have experienced her wrath would have believed it. But it WAS true, whilst she knew most people thought of anger as a dangerous emotion, one which came with obvious risks attached, she also knew that in normal circumstances her anger posed no threat to her. That she would not usually say or do anything that she wouldn't have said or done if she was calmer, usually….. But of course it was the unusual times that did for you – those few rare occasions when the control slipped and you were there in all your unbridled fury. Those moments which you couldn't take back, couldn't repair, just had to deal with and somehow work through. And in a strange convoluted way it was one of those moments that had brought her to here – that meant she was sitting in the prayer room on Darwin at the end of her day. 'Hiding out' she thought 'like an outlaw', which raised a smile as she remembered games of 'Cowboys and Indians' and 'Cops and Robbers' she had played as a child. But then another thought came to her, 'No, NOT hiding away – staging a tactical retreat, to preserve your strength for what's to come, the battles still to be fought.' And she liked that thought – it somehow seemed to fit better and it gave her the impetus to get up and leave, to re-engage once more with the world, with the ward, with Jonny. "Let battle commence," she said softly to herself before, after taking a deep breath, she stepped back, unseen, in to the hustle and bustle of the (her) busy surgical ward, closing the door quietly behind her as she did so. She wondered off down the corridor and after picking up her bag from the locker room headed to her office to collect those journal articles she was determined to read tonight, marvelling as she walked at how her 'research day' had been sabotaged by Elliott's forgetfulness, the almost unbelievable propensity of the patients on the ward to cause her trouble, of one kind or another and the downright dunderheadness of some of her colleagues in other departments. 'Honestly' she thought, as she scooped the papers from her desk where they'd been piled neatly all day waiting for her attention, and put them in her bag 'you'd think good patient care was the last thing we should be thinking about the way some people round here act. But' she thought with a smile, as she took her jacket down from the hook and opened the office door 'I soon put them right on that score.' And that sense of satisfaction kept her smiling slightly as she walked down the corridor towards the exit.

"Hey, I thought you'd gone," a voice said from behind her.

She turned, to see Jonny standing outside bay 3 with a blood sample in his hand, "No," she replied simply.

"But I was looking for you" he persisted.

"Oh"

"And I couldn't find you?" he said, and Jac knew that the statement was a question, so gave him an answer...of sorts

"Well I didn't leave. We must have just kept missing each other. Is that for Mrs Jarvis?" she asked, indicating the blood sample, and hoping that he wouldn't notice how she had changed the subject.

"Erm, yep," Jonny replied.

"Great, can you get the lab to fast-track the results then please? We'll need to know what's going on with her by tomorrow morning."

"Course."

"Alright then, I'll see you tomorrow," she said, before taking pity on him and moving closer she continued quietly. "We wouldn't leave without saying goodbye you know." Before she ever so gently kissed his cheek, whispered "Bye Jonny" in his ear and turned towards the exit, leaving Jonny staring after her in astonishment. And just as she reached the doors, another thought occurred to her, consistent with her earlier metaphors. 'The fight goes on!' And as the doors opened as she pushed, she had to agree, smiling slightly as she did so, 'Indeed it does, indeed it does!'


	2. Chapter 2

**Can't believe how long it is since I updated this - sorry! Also, once again whilst writing I have been taken in another direction - so (time permitting) there will be a third (and I promise final) part with the original idea I had contained within it. Am not sure this all makes sense but hopefully you'll see what I was trying to say. As ever, please review - I really do like to know what everyone thinks **

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Jac had retreated to the Prayer Room again and her shift wasn't even halfway done. 'Twice in two days' she thought to herself, 'you'd better watch yourself Jac or you'll end up becoming a believer by default.' This thought reminded her of Jonny's assertion at Christmas, 'It's ok, you can't catch religion' which caused her to smile, until she remembered what had happened after that shift, and how different everything was now.

And suddenly she was filled with a longing to be back there – on Christmas Day, when everything had, magically it seemed, been resolved between them. A Christmas miracle, **her** Christmas miracle. For the first time in as long as she could remember, 'maybe' she thought, with a hint of bitterness, 'maybe ever' she had been with someone at Christmas and felt like she belonged. And when she had woken up on Boxing Day, way past her normal internal alarm time, and had found herself lying in Jonny's arms, that sense of belonging remained, was magnified even, and she had gone back to sleep, safe in the knowledge that he would be there when she woke again. And he was – but then there'd been Sean, and Japan and their all too short reconciliation until the endometriosis diagnosis which had, unbeknownst even to herself, knocked her far more off kilter than she would have thought possible. She knew Jonny wanted children and had surprised herself by saying and meaning that she **could** 'do that' – Jonny's whole shebang. And although Jonny hadn't thought she was capable of it, she **KNEW **with a certainty that hadn't wavered that she could indeed do 'that'.

And then there was the diagnosis, and that certainty which she had begun to treasure as a promise of good things to come, was shattered. And Jonny's words spoken, she knew in anger and only after extreme provocation from her, had broken it entirely, causing her to lash out in a completely uncharacteristic demonstration of her feelings. And when, as soon as she had done it, and she had seen the extent of Jonny's hurt and quiet fury, she wished she could take it back – wished briefly, even, that she had lost the use of her hand rather than do it. But still, even then, when he asked her if she had everything she wanted, she couldn't, wouldn't admit that she didn't. Instead, she had hoped, desperately, that he would see through her 'looks like it', even though she knew he had no reason to question it.

Perhaps Jonny was right, maybe she was incapable, perhaps she would always push the self-destruct button when she had a chance of a normal life, a hope of happiness. She had certainly done a pretty good job of proving his words right on that day. And even now she wasn't entirely sure why. Why she had let him believe that her career _was_ the only thing that mattered; that he, that them, wasn't important to her; that she could walk away from it, from him just like that. She had thought about it, tried to explain it, perhaps even to justify it, to herself but still didn't believe she had the full answer. She knew her pride was a factor and her fear of being thought of as weak, and that her reluctance to ever admit she was wrong and even more to apologise, played a part. And she also knew that she'd been scared, because if she had said something then she would have had to explain, and run the risks such an explanation would have engendered. She would have had to explain the reason for her actions – why she had slapped Jonny; why his words, hurtful to hear at any time, had hit her so hard, affected her so deeply on that particular day. And she was scared what such an explanation would do – the risk of rejection was too high. At least this way she had the control – it was her decision, even if to 'decide' such a thing would cause her heartache, at least it was her choice. And she also knew there was an element of hope in that three word answer. Hope that Jonny would see through her pretence, would realise that it was a façade. A hope that he would continue to batter down her defences, to knock down the walls that she'd built around herself; that he would keep trying to reach her, to find the heart he'd been so sure, earlier in the day, was inside of her. And even though she knew, even then as she said it, that it was an unfair hope to hold, it was still there. But even that, even all those factors didn't seem quite enough to explain the enormity of those words, or rather the absence of the words she didn't say – the effect she knew they would have.

So maybe Jonny had been right, perhaps the self-destruct button was too big of an attraction for her, perhaps she _was_ destined, doomed always to press it whenever she had a chance of happiness. She had to admit it certainly seemed that way, and she was sure that from an outside's perspective, from Jonny's perspective it would appear that that was what she was doing. Repeatedly self-sabotaging herself for a, to them, to him, unfathomable reason. But though she could see how they could think that, how it appeared, how she might even view it that way if she anyone else acting that way; perhaps might have explained it that way herself a few weeks ago, but not now, now it just didn't feel right. Because now that certainty, that promise of good things to come was slowly being repaired; was, like the baby growing everyday. And though things were far from how she wanted them to be, she was also sure that that didn't mean they wouldn't work out. She wasn't sure how that would happen, or when, or why but she was prepared to wait and see. And she was strangely hopeful once again, feeling again the possibility that good things were coming, knowing in fact, that if everything went well, possibly the best thing that could ever happen would be there.

'**IF everything went well'**

And there it was – the thought that seemed to run round her head, in the background, on a loop. The thought that would them loom large in her mind as she lay in bed trying to sleep. She knew that because of her endometriosis she had a higher risk of complications during pregnancy, which was why she'd been so sure when she'd had the bleeding early on that she miscarried, that the baby was gone. Why she'd been so determined not to take the pregnancy test she'd been thinking about for the whole day and Jonny had asked her to take (a decision she knew he'd found inexplicable at the time, although she thought he might understand her initial refusal a little better now, since she had told him about her diagnosis, if not the fears it engendered). She hadn't wanted, couldn't bear to have her fears confirmed, to know that what she'd had was lost, and unlikely to ever be replaced. Not that the baby could be replaced but she knew it was as close to a miracle as she'd get that she was ever pregnant, so to have the feat repeated seemed, to her, an impossibility. Things like that, she'd long ago accepted, didn't happen to her. Although, although this had…the baby was not lost, her miracle had continued to be miraculous, but for how long?

Surely her luck would run out at some point. The 12 week scan was next week, booked as far away from Holby as it was possible to get, not only because she was trying to avoid the gossip that would ensue if she was seen as a patient in the ultrasound clinic (Although she knew that would only buy her a few hours if Jonny had his way – he'd made his intention to let the world and his wife know the news after the scan very clear, although she still hoped she'd be able to persuade him to let the news out her way rather than via a round robin email or an announcement, complete with baby scan picture, on Facebook.) but also because she couldn't bear to be somewhere that she knew if there was bad news. She'd rather be somewhere she didn't know and would never have to return to, surrounded by people she would be extremely unlucky to ever see again, if she was to receive bad news, the worst news.

So whilst the hope of good things was still there, she was also scared, terrified even, that it would all go wrong somewhere along the line. And sometimes she wasn't sure which was strongest – the hope or the fear. And she was also terrified that by letting the fear in, it would somehow become a self-fulfilling prophecy. That she would somehow, by thinking, by fearing these things, contribute to the end of everything. And though she knew it was irrational, it was still also still there and the hope could only keep her going for so long, it was only so strong, but like the baby, she hoped, still growing. 'Everything will be fine' she thought to herself, trying to feed the hope. 'Everything has been fine and will continue to be so. It will all be OK'. "Everything will be ok" she said out loud, in the quiet of the prayer room. "Everything will be ok" she repeated. And before she had a chance to tie herself up in anymore knots, she heard someone – Gwen? – call out for help and then the alarm sounded. She was at the door in no time at all, not even stopping to take a breath before opening the door and stepping out on to the ward, leaving the quiet of the Prayer Room without a second glance but calmer than she had been when she entered it.


End file.
